Aidan{12}

by Obi in London

Please comment, there is osme tricky Word 2007 formatting coming up so It'll take a lot of editing soon!

Aidan Chapter 12

The service started, the priest stood over the grave: Telling of the deeds of a man he never knew, as usual. However, to tell of Sean O’Connell’s deeds, you need not have known him. As he was a legend in his own life time, and was remembered in all. Those were the approximate, wise words of the priest that Pallas had heard. The brave constable was laid to rest in his solemn grave, amongst the peat and shamrock forever. Faber stood and let out a wail of sorrow, Pavlov stood to and wrestled him back to his chair.
“No,” said Faber, “I need to say something…..” He walked to the edge of the grave and opened his mouth to same a few words. Pallas smiled a smile as sharp as a sickle, as cruel as a scythe. This was the cruellest time to wipe his soul from this earth, swittttt . The bullet zipped through the air and lodged itself in Faber chest, without a bang. Just a callous his, like a basilisk. Faber’s eyes opened wide and stared at nothing, his drunkenly ruddy face flushed white in seconds. He keeled over and died. Pallas turned the barrel of her gun as the crowd gasped, scattered, cried and yelled in panic, she was about to kill the Russian constable Pavlov. Though, the young girl named Kirsten was more in control than she had bargained for. Kirsten Miller took a magnum handgun from her pocket and looked around, Pallas began to quickly pack up her equipment. Although it was to late, Kirsten had spied her and caught her eye. The little brunette was turning out to be quite a problem, thought Pallas.
Kirsten rushed into the church and climbed the stairs. By the time she got to the roof, Pallas was already gone.

Aidan saw Pallas rushing away from the scene, and assumed correctly that she was the assassin. At funerals in McGilly Lynn, it was traditional to shoot a flaming arrow in the air. Aidan grabbed the bow and arrow, and loaded the bow. He shot the arrow at Pallas, but she was to skilled. She realised at the last second and managed to dodge so that it hit her belt and knocked it off her waist. Aidan threw the bow at her, and ran to retrieve the belt. He picked it up and ran back to the funeral, he saw Kirsten in her uniform and gave it to her.
“How did you get this?” gasped Kirsten as she looked at the belt.
“I used the bow and arrow to shoot it off her waist, I missed her kidney……” answered Aidan proudly, trying to keep the happiness out of his voice.

“Very good. This will be a big help to the investigation!” congratulated Kirsten, but you could see the sorrow in her eyes. She had just lost a friend.

Two days later, down at the Forensic Centre.

The McGilly Lynn Forensic Centre was absolutely tiny, it had three rooms: The lab, a ‘interview’ type room used for all types of things and a reception. Kirsten and forensic specialist and detective Fadden Zurich, were sitting in the ‘interview’ room. ‘Coincidentally’, Kirsten was being interviewed……
“You,” said Mr. Zurich, “are under suspicion, of being guilty of the assassination of Constable Faber O’Donnell.”
“What!? Under what evidence?” gasped Kirsten angrily, livid tears welling in her green eyes.
Fadden Zurich, stayed cool as ice. “Eyewitnesses report you were seen with a handgun, seconds after the shooting.”
“Correct, I was going after the real killer which I actually saw, for the love of God a boy got her belt. Ina few hours we’ll have her identity and………..” Kirsten was cut short by Mr. Zurich’s drawling lectures again.
“ Look’ I know it’s hard for you but I’m just doing my job,” drawled Fadden Zurich, as if he had read it of a card.
“Urgh, this is going to be a long interview……..” groaned Kirsten miserably, and looked out of the window.

The next morning dawned gradually, the sunrise was like an oil painting: Smeared with hues of pink and gold, burnished with coppery clouds and the underbelly of the lazy cirrus glazed orange. Aidan sat outside on a deck chair on the wooden veranda, a matte black sketch book in hand and a box of pastels at his side. As he carefully drew the sunrise, Angelo was practising his bloodhound skills. Aidan had given Angelo a scent and then hidden that object, so far Angelo was proving to be a reasonable bloodhound. He had found the scarf exactly four times out of six. Every time he found the scarf, Aidan would throw him a piece of meat and watch him jump to catch it.

The silence was shattered like glass, as the harsh shriek of the cockerels crow resounded all around the farmhouse. In a matter of minutes nearly everyone was awake, especially Alan and Aidan as today was sheep shearing day! Alan walked out onto the veranda, his sheepdog’s sharp untrimmed claws trotting on the rough hickory. The sheepdog’s name was Dunn, and he was a champion sheepdog. While Aidan had Angelo, who was a champion sheep-fox! At first, when Aidan had suggested Angelo try herding sheep Alan had been extremely sceptic. You couldn’t really blame him for not wanting to release the classic sheep eating animal upon his prize flock, but Aidan had done it anyway. Angelo had been a natural almost immediately.

Though on that fateful day when they reached the field, the flock was darted here and hither in a wild frenzy. A trio of wild dogs circled them viciously, snapping their spittle leaking jaws and bearing their white fangs.